


Secure Amidst a Falling World

by pinkwithoutplot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8248531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwithoutplot/pseuds/pinkwithoutplot
Summary: Sam says 'yes' to Lucifer, but Dean isn't ready to let him go. Locked inside himself, Sam must bear witness as Lucifer attempts to break his brother's will by any means necessary.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate (i.e. pornographic) take on 5x22 Swan Song. Non con, violence, humiliation, reference to underage Wincestuous thoughts.

 

 

Sam feels his tongue shape the words in his mouth, feels them buzz around in his skull. They are pressed out past his teeth, and they sound with his voice. But they aren't his.

“I told you. This would always happen in Detroit.”

He watches his brother's stricken face as the realization seeps in. Sam is gone. Lucifer is wearing him like a cheap rental tux, just like he always feared.

But Sam isn't gone. Sam is here, trapped inside his oversized body, cold and more afraid than he's ever been in a lifetime of being afraid.

Sam never knew what it was to cry instinctively for his mom when he was scared or upset. Never had a soft body enfold him and a soothing, feminine register hush him calm after a bad dream until he met Jessica. Instead he had Dean. Dean was all things to him and in retrospect, it was more than enough. He wants so desperately to call out to him now or, better still, to share the kind of look that always says a thousand complex things when speech fails them. But instead his brow is creased – expression forced into a cruel parody of sympathy.

That's the worst of this, Sam decides. He's been robbed of the nuances, the secret language of eyes and hands which he and his brother have been using to spin a chrysalis around them all their lives.

Dying? Well, he's always known he wouldn't make old bones. He's got form in that department. Hell? He figures he's had one foot over the threshold pretty much his whole life. Part of him craves it, the part that's never quite forgiven himself for Mom, for Jess, for his brother's spell in the pit. Then there's the small matter of having the End of Days to atone for. Though Dean may have packed the firework, he went and lit the touch paper.

But standing a few feet away from Dean, seeing grief so plainly etched on his brother's features, crushing the air out of him, weighing down his shoulders, leeching the colour from his cheeks, and not being able to offer him a modicum of comfort? The epitome of rock bottom.

It's like being at his own funeral. He's been buried alive.

“Sammy!”

Dean looks coiled and primed to bolt, but Sam can see he's still not quite ready to give up on him. He should have known when it came right down to it, Dean wouldn't leave this alone despite his promises.

“Sammy's gone, Dean. I suggest you get out of here too. I wouldn't want to have to ruin that pretty face.”

Sam hears the threat wrenched from his own throat and wills Dean to run.

“He's changed his mind. Find someone else to ride into your family shitstorm. I bet there's a queue of whack-jobs just dying to be Satan's wing man. Give Charles Manson a call. I hear he's got time on his hands these days.”

Sam detects a waver under his brother's bravado and knows Lucifer does too.

“No take backs, Dean. It always had to be Sam. You know that. He and I were M.F.E.O. Literally.”

“Yeah well, I don't believe in all that crap. We make our own destiny. Give him back or so help me -”

Sam feels an ugly facsimile of his laugh bubble up from his chest.

“You'll what, Dean? Hmm? It's too late. He said 'yes'. Sam's mine.”

Sam wants to scream. Wants to deny it.

“You're wrong,” Dean says, sounding surer than before. “I'm trying to do you a favour here. He'll beat you. I know him. He'll find a way. Take the out while you still can.”

Sam's right foot is lifted from the dusty floor and Lucifer takes a step towards his brother, Dean's eyes widening slightly, his muscles bunching under his clothes in a flinch.

“He's gone, Dean. He's part of me now. What bit of that are you not getting?”

“SAM?”

Sam feels his mouth tugged into a smirk. He hates and loves Dean all at once with such ferocity for his stubbornness. It's suicide, what he's doing, and Sam wonders briefly if that isn't the point.

“I know him, Dean. All his thoughts, even the ones he's hidden in the darkest corners. Every fleeting thing. He wants this. He's been waiting his whole life. I'm his home. You were a surrogate at best.”

Sam peers out of his own eyes, impotent rage and anguish drowning out his awareness of anything else. He half believes he's already in Hell. Paralyzed, knowing he's about to bear witness to his brother's destruction at his own hands and the rest the world may well follow. This was a mistake. His whole fucking existence has been one terrible choice after another.

“The Father of Lies? That's what they call you isn't it?”

Why is he still talking? Why isn't he running?

“I'm his family,” Dean continues. “Me. Always have been. Not some rich-ass college civvies. Not that yellow-eyed sonofabitch. Not a blood-pushin' demon whore. And definitely not you.”

Sam feels Lucifer's anger building and swirling around inside his flesh. His muscles are tensed, face impassive but jaw clenched. He feels the dull ache of his molars being ground together. His fingers flex.

“You know,” Lucifer says when he's finally got the desired rein on Sam's voice. “This...attachment you have to Sammy. It's not healthy. Some might say it's downright fucked up.”

“What the Hell are you talking about?”

Sam's lost the functionality required to scream and bite and kick, but he needs to. He's trying frantically to claw his way out of this prison of his own blood, bone and skin. _Dean_ , he begs. _Please just go. He'll end you._

“He's telling you to go,” Sam feels his right index finger tap at his temple. “In here. He wants rid of you. Your needy, clingy, suffocating obsession with him. It's sick. He's been running from it his whole life. Running towards me. I'm his freedom.”

“No,” Dean says in a cracked voice and Sam can tell Lucifer has found a fontanelle. Now he has, he'll work his way in, picking and prodding and tearing until he breaks him open.

“Yes, Dean. And you're really testing my patience now. Even after than little stunt with the rings, I was prepared to let you live. I mean, I can't blame you for trying. I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't. I'd have brought Mommy and Daddy back too. I wanted him to be happy. But you had to keep pushing, didn't you big brother?”

Sam sees Dean's Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

“So what's it gonna take, Dean? What is it going to take to make you realize he doesn't want the life you gave him and that you can't save him anymore? I mean, best case scenario: He takes a tumble with me. There's no coming back from that.”

Sam sees tears start in his brother's chartreuse eyes and prays for an end to this, even though his current situation is hard proof that faith's never done him a scrap of good.

“Yeah well,” Dean says finally. “At least he'll go out on his terms. It'll be his choice. His sacrifice. So if you're gonna kill me, do it. I won't fight you. I'll be waiting in the pit to watch my brother drag your sorry ass back into that cage.”

_There it is_ , Sam thinks, love and pride and a gaping sense of loss thundering through him so hard and fast that for a nanosecond the bonds keeping him harnessed deep inside himself are stretched to capacity.

Sam feels his features arranged into a nasty little smile just before the world goes blazing white, and the next thing he knows he's up against the wall of the warehouse with his brother pinned under his body from chest to toe. Their faces are so close they are sharing breaths, Dean's warm exhalations dragged into Sam's mouth and blown out icy cold.

“He's in here, Dean,” Lucifer breathes. “He's inside me, watching, listening, and he can't do a damn thing. I've tried to explain it to you but it doesn't seem to be penetrating that dense cranium of yours, so now I'm going to demonstrate for you. I'm going to teach you that I'm running this show now, and your brother is merely a spectator with ring-side seats.”

Sam's surrounded by an energy far stronger than anything he ever experienced hopped up on Ruby's blood, an exothermic fury, and he sees Dean's body slide up the wall, his feet scrabbling for purchase before they clear the ground. His arms float up, seemingly of their own volition, until he's staked-out – Christ-like – breathing ragged. Then Lucifer is using Sam's hands to rip Dean's shirt open, buttons flying and scattering on the filthy floor. He untucks Dean's tee and all the while his brother is staring, panicked expression on his face, mouth working open and shut like he's got something important to say but can't remember what it is.

Sam sees his hands snarl in the over-washed fabric at the hem and yank, the cotton tearing easy as wet tissue paper to hang in shreds off his brother's sculpted shoulders. Lucifer traces a finger around the hand print Castiel left seared into Dean's skin where it's exposed, and he feels his brother shudder under the touch.

Sam knows what's coming. He sees the exact moment it dawns on Dean too, and his brother moans,

“Aw, no. No!”

“Oh, yes,” Lucifer hisses through Sam's teeth, trailing a nail down to flick over Dean's nipple, and Sam is horrified to feel his cock filling and lengthening at the sound of his brother's simpering.

Lucifer tilts Sam's head, and the taste of salt and something like the smell of gasoline is potent on his tongue as Lucifer uses it to lick a stripe up his brother's neck. Dean's eyes swivel manically when Lucifer looks up to see his reaction, but his head is held fast against the rough plaster.

“Get offa me you sick fuck!” he spits.

Sam feels the low rumble of laughter in the pit of his stomach.

“Come on Dean,” Lucifer whispers. “Don't pretend it never crossed your mind. All those long, sweaty nights when you were pressed up against each other. Such a good little brother. Chucking out heat and just learning what this was for.”

Lucifer punctuates that by rolling the rigid outline of Sam's cock against Dean's hip.

“He was mortified. Didn't know how to explain to Dad why you needed separate beds. Couldn't admit that he lay awake for hours, too scared to go to sleep in case he woke up trying to ride your crack or soaking your side of the mattress with his come.”

Dean closes his eyes and turns his head to the side.

He's not cold anymore. Sam is a red hot ball of shame and regret, zipping around under his own skin, coursing through his own veins, sizzling inside his marrow. His hands are tingling as Lucifer guides them towards his brother's fly and starts to work it open.

“All that time on your hands. Dad gone. Cooped up in one shitty room after another. You can't tell me you never considered...experimenting. I know Sam did. He'd have done anything to please you back then. Anything you'd asked of him. He was so hot for it and starved of affection, he'd probably have laid back and spread his legs for you if he'd thought it would make you happy. His own brother.”

“You shut up. SHUT UP!” Dean's hoarse shout ricochets around the cavernous space.

Sam is propelled right back to those years, the confusion and disgust he felt. The gradual realization that most fourteen year old boys didn't share a bed with their eighteen year old brothers. Other boys went to school dances and kissed girls under the bleachers. They didn't spy on their brother groping their diner waitress against the hood of a '67 Chevrolet and jerk off furtively to the memory at the next opportunity.

Sam feels the tacky, strangely delicate skin of his brother's limp dick against his knuckles as Lucifer reaches inside Dean's shorts and gives him a gentle squeeze.

“Performance anxiety? Must happen a lot. How many of those nameless sluts go home disappointed, Dean? How many of them are left unsatisfied because your tastes are so much more exotic these days? How many guess you're just itching to carve them up a little?”

Dean looks straight at him then and Sam focuses on trying to soften his eyes, to let his brother know he's still in here. That he doesn't want this. Would never let this happen. But it's futile and the next thing he knows there is a warm, wet trickle down his cheek. Dean's spit.

Sam anticipates retaliation – his arm shooting up to deliver a swift backhand perhaps – but instead he feels a sinister serenity wash through him and his tongue snakes out to catch the dribble of his brother's saliva as it reaches the corner of his mouth. His hands find themselves tugging down Dean's jeans and underwear. Before he knows it, he's kneeling on the gritty floor, his face level with his brother's soft cock. He's ripe with sweat, something sickly underlying – the smell of fear.

“You get the Hell away from me!” Dean sobs, scratchy and raw sounding.

Lucifer flicks Sam's eyes up to hook his brother's before he sucks him into his mouth. Dean's hips are anchored to the wall by Lucifer's will and he's making these choked little noises of defeat.

Sam feels his brother swell against his tongue. It's a completely alien sensation, blowing another guy, but Lucifer uses his mouth expertly, swallowing Dean down to the root, and pulling back with a firm suction, keeping Sam's lips rolled over his teeth so he doesn't scrape his brother's rapidly engorging shaft.

“Just kill me. Get it over with you sonofabitch!” Dean groans. He's panting hard now.

Sam gets it. Understands exactly what Lucifer means to accomplish. What he's doing to Dean is far worse than striking him dead. He's deconstructing him. Shaking his faith apart. Sam is his vessel. He's going to have Dean defile it, have it defile Dean. He wants to ensure that Dean can never think of his little brother again without imagining this. Sam's hands on him. Sam's mouth on his cock. Sam fucking his ass. He wants to prove that Sam is powerless to prevent that. Wants Dean to remember he couldn't stop what's about to happen.

“Mmm,” Lucifer pulls off with a wet sound and licks Sam's lips. “That's more like it.”

Sam sees Dean hard and straining, the glistening head of his cock pulsing minutely in time with his heart.

“Are we having fun yet?”

“Fuck you,” Dean murmurs weakly, eyes lowered.

“Au contraire, mon frere,” Lucifer says, twisting Sam's features into a lascivious grin. “How about you, Sammy? How you doing in there? Hmm? I take it you'd let me know if you weren't into this. I mean, all you have to do is overpower me, right? Hulk out and put me back in my box?”

Sam's howling. He's writhing and gnashing ripping himself apart in here, but nothing he does has any impact. Lucifer's right. He doesn't stand a chance. The world is going to burn, and he'll have to watch his own hand set the torch.

He is a lost to despair for a while, and when he comes to, he's still kneeling. Dean's legs are slung over his shoulders, a dead weight. His nose is smothered in his brother's soft sac while his tongue flickers over Dean's asshole. There's a faint smell of rotting vegetation which reminds him of swampland. Dean is moaning, and Lucifer reaches up with Sam's hand to massage his brother's cock. The saliva is mostly dried, but when Sam's thumb swipes over the head, a smear of fluid slicks along the pad. Sam's hand squeezes and more oozes out. Lucifer spreads it around, uses it to ease the way as he jerks Dean off, jacking him slowly while Sam's tongue works its way further and further inside him.

Dean is babbling now, guttural noises littered with profanities.

Lucifer pulls Sam's tongue out of the tight clutch of his brother's hole and says,

“That's it, Dean. Let me hear how much you want it. How you love to get eaten out by your baby brother.”

“Not my brother!” Deans grates out.

“But Sammy's here too, Dean. He's right here. Tasting you. Scenting you. Hearing how crazy you are for his tongue in your ass. And when you're nice and wet, it's going to be his big, thick, cock plowing you open. Pounding into you until you shoot all over yourself. Sam's seed flooding you, dripping down your thighs when I pull out.”

“Oh God!” Dean whimpers and Sam can't be sure but it sounds for all the world like there's a thread of pleasure woven though it. His own cock is throbbing under Lucifer's control.

“Going to feel so good,” Lucifer crows softly with Sam's voice. “Nothing's ever gonna come close to the feel of being stuffed full of your little brother's meat.”

Dean let's out a tortured moan as Sam's tongue worms back into the tight heat of his ass. There's hardly any resistance. Dean is not in command of his own body. Lucifer is yanking both of their strings.

Lucifer has closed Sam's eyes. He is stabbing his tongue in and out, in and out, licking in deep, humming and swallowing like Dean's ass is honeycomb. In a weird, detached way, Sam thinks he's not as squeamish about this as he should be. Years of pulling claws and teeth and shot out of Dean's flesh, drawing the tattered edges of wounds together with dental floss and a darning needle, smelling his jizz in the bathroom, wiping sticky splotches of his piss from the rim of the toilet bowl, sponging puke from his chin when he was delirious with the flu. All these things have left him uncomfortably comfortable with having his face buried in Dean's ass. Sam's bewilderment is compounded by the fact he can feel his underwear start to stick to his skin where precome is soaking the fabric. Lucifer is getting off on making Dean whimper, making his cock twitch even as he mutters _no-no-no-no-no_ , like it's the only word he remembers.

Although he knows it's inevitable, it still comes as a shock to Sam when he feels himself rise, his hand fumbling the front of his own jeans open and shoving them down his thighs. The cool touch of hand stroking his own throbbing dick.

Lucifer manhandles Dean's newly atonic legs around Sam's hips and reaches up to grasp Dean's chin between strong fingers, forcing his head up.

“You're going to enjoy this, Dean. And there's not a damn thing you or your brother can do about that.”

Lucifer cups his hand under Dean's mouth.

“Spit,” he orders.

Dean looks up defiantly, then Sam sees a shift behind his eyes as he realizes it's this or nothing. Dean spits. Lucifer uses Sam's hand to slick Dean's saliva around his cock. Then he looks down and spits directly onto it himself, making it wetter. Satisfied, Lucifer guides the tip to snug up against Dean's dampened hole.

Sam can only look on in horror as his hips push slowly but firmly forward, the fat head of his rock-hard cock breaching his brother, and Dean's eyes slam shut. His focus is torn between the pain his brother is trying not to show and the maddeningly tight drag of his sphincter along Sam's length. Sam hates how good it feels, loathes the way Lucifer uses his mouth to let out a long, satiated moan.

“Oh Dean. Not bad for a hairless ape. You feel good. Sam thinks so too. Must have taken every shred of willpower he had to resist this body. These lips.”

Sam feels lower than he ever thought possible. Incarcerated, helpless, the fate of the world slipping through his fingers – fingers which are currently possessed by The Devil himself. And to top it all, the soft push of his brother's lips against his, the slightly perfumed taste of the chapstick he applies when he thinks Sam isn't looking, is bringing back all kinds of thoughts his teenage self fought so hard to bury.

Lucifer stills Sam's hips once he's fully encased in his brother's tight heat, and Dean twists his head away from the flicker of his tongue against his sealed lips.

Sam feels a harsh laugh puff out of him.

“Don't be shy, sweetheart.”

Dean lowers his head, blocking Lucifer's access when he goes in for another biting kiss.

“OK. Fine. Enough foreplay then.”

Then his pelvis snaps back and slams back in brutally, driving a loud grunt out of Dean.

“Mmm...better. Let me hear you.”

Sam watches Dean wince and grit his teeth as Lucifer starts to piston at a punishing pace, but he can't quite quash the little noises bleeding out of him. Tears are squeezed out from under his dark lashes, and Sam sees how the flush creeps across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, starts to count the freckles there to keep from savouring the way Dean's rim catches on his glans on every out-stroke before he punches back in.

Lucifer reaches Sam's hand between their stomachs to clasp Dean's cock, and Sam is stunned to find it fully hard even after the pain of entry. He thinks back to Lucifer's dig about wanting to slice up women and wonders with a nauseous sense of uncertainty whether he was telling the truth about that one.

The notion barely forms a dark wisp in his consciousness, before Lucifer plucks it out.

“I was right about you, Dean. You like your pleasure laced with a little something else, huh? You're so hard for this, it's embarrassing. Little Sammy's not-so-little- dick reaming you good and hard. Don't even care if you bleed. It's fucked up and you're loving it. Reckon you're gonna get off harder than you ever have, what do you think?”

Dean's breaths are forced out of him in staccato bursts as his back is slammed into the wall over and over by the brutal onslaught of Lucifer's thrusts. His eyes are glazed, heavy lidded, slipping closed before a particularly hard pump of Sam's hips has him gasping and opening them wide again.

Sam feels his balls pull up close to his body and knows it won't be long before he's coming if Lucifer keeps up this pace. He can't tear his gaze away from Dean's face, slack and distant like he's in the throes of religious ecstasy.

Then Dean starts to speak. At first it's so quiet, Sam thinks he's imagining things.

“Sammy.”

At the sound of his name, a deluge of conflicting emotions washes over him. He wants to answer his brother so badly. It's like being right back at that fucking crossroads, clawing at the loose earth, his fingernails splintered and bleeding, drunk out of his mind and so torn up with grief he'd have ripped his own heart out if he'd thought it would ease the pain.

“Sam? Sammy? I know you can hear me -”

Dean's cut off, the wind is knocked out of him as Lucifer tries to fuck him through the wall. He gulps in a few breaths and continues.

“I know you're in there. And it's OK. It's OK. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you.”

Dean's eyes are sharper now, he's looking at Lucifer. No, _through_ Lucifer. Dean's trying to find him, even as Sam's cock is driven into him again and again. Sam feels his lungs expel dirty little moans and sighs of _'oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah'_. Lucifer is consumed with the filthy, exquisite roil of arousal swirling through Sam's body, and Sam looks at his brother through heavy lids, repeating the only word that ever mattered,

“Dean. Dean. Dean.”

“Sammy? It's OK. None of this matters. I'm here. I won't leave you. Not ever.”

He is close, Lucifer is churning his hips, choppy and deep, nailing his brother hard and precise, drawing him closer to the edge of the precipice, and then Sam feels Dean's cock spasm between them before spurting long, warm pulses of come, slippery on their bellies, gossamer threads strung stickily between them as Lucifer fucks Dean's pliant body through it.

“Sam,” Dean groans as he jerks and spills. “Sammy.”

Sam chases his name, fall into it, lets it fill him up with warmth and light and safety. He swells, pushing the sound of it out into his fingers, his toes, his beating heart, his eyes. Let's it grow and expand into all the dark, cold recesses where The Devil dwells, feels it temper the fiery anger and hatred in his loins. He hears Lucifer, not from his mouth but in his head, and knows he has him.

“No!”

It takes everything Sam has to keep Lucifer down for few seconds it takes him to say,

“Dean,”

sounding out loud clear as his orgasm sucker punches him. Deans eyes go wide and brim, bright with tears. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips as Sam hunches and shivers, feels his cock slip wetly out of his brother's body as he slumps to the ground.

The word tilts and Sam finds himself in a different room, staring into a mirror. The face that stares back at him is Lucifer's, but it's rattled. Sam has him worried. He can feel it. Sam isn't entirely broken. The Devil couldn't break him. Couldn't break him and Dean. That might just be all Sam needs to know. a279;

 

 

 


End file.
